


Kissing a Frog

by orphan_account



Category: Banjo-Kazooie Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-23
Updated: 2012-11-22
Packaged: 2017-11-19 07:33:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/570768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jamjars turns up at Jolly Roger's bar.  Set between Banjo-Tooie and Nuts and Bolts.  Rather dark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Jolly Roger had begun to dread happy hour, mostly because it just wasn't very happy on the days when no customers turned up-- and those days were coming more and more frequently.  On one particular winter afternoon when an unusually chill wind was blowing over the lagoon, Jolly walked up and down behind the bar, listlessly rubbing a rag over the already-shining wood.

"It's been like this for nearly a year," Jolly murmured, surveying the empty tavern, "since before Maggie left."  Jolly's business partner Merry Maggie Malpass had quit the tavern some nine months ago, when the flow of customers had petered out and times had started to get hard.  Jolly was past being bitter about that, but now he had other problems.  Even Captain Blackeye had moved on to fairer ports.

Jolly poured himself a large mug of ginger beer and was just settling down for an evening of lonely self-pity when the tavern's door was flung open with a bang.  Jolly jumped and looked up to see a short mole waddling in, looking around the tavern sharply.  The brown furry creature was dressed in a dark green army uniform with pair of dark glasses perched on his long nose.  Jolly frowned as the mole stalked toward the bar; he recognized the rodent as Sergeant Jamjars, who had visited the tavern before-- but not through the door.

"Well, _you've_ got a lot of nerve," Jolly sniffed, "coming here after you tore up my floor two years ago!"

"Shaddup, punk," the mole growled even as he heaved himself up onto a bar stool.  "I wouldn't have come here if I'd had anywhere else to go."

"What'll it be, then?"  Supposing that he should be grateful to have a customer, Jolly leaned against the bar across from Jamjars and tried to look friendly.

Jamjars eyed him over through the barely-translucent lenses of his glasses.  "What d'ya got besides that ginger stuff?"

"Erm, well. . . that's it, actually."  Jolly shrugged.  "But there's plenty of it."

Jamjars sighed and nodded.  "Better than nothing, I guess."

Jolly turned his back on the mole to pick up a clean mug and fill it at the tap, glancing over his narrow shoulder at Jamjars as he worked.  He was used to making conversation with his customers, but the mole was somewhat intimidating, and Jolly wasn't sure what to say to him.  Finally as he gave Jamjars his drink, Jolly asked, "So where have you gotten yourself kicked out of, if you ended up coming here?"

"I didn't get kicked out, ya punk!" Jamjars snapped, then took a long draught from his mug.  "I just got tired of it, s'all."

"Hmn."  Jolly sat back down across from the mole and eyed him.  "I wish more people got tired of their usual watering holes and came here."

Jamjars looked around and gave a sharp bark of a laugh, then slid his glasses down his nose to look at Jolly with the greenest eyes the frog had ever seen.  "I see what ya mean.  Slow night?"

"Erm. . . slow year is more like it," Jolly muttered, making himself look away from the entrancing eyes.  "Things were good for a year or so after that cute teddy bear and his bird turned up and found my missing partner-- and after _you_ ruined my best room's floor.  But then everyone just started. . . disappearing."  He shrugged.  "Moving on."

"Eh."  Jamjars looked down into his mug, his head so low that his nose nearly dunked into his ginger beer.  "I know how that is."  Before Jolly could probe that mysterious response, Jamjars looked up again and shoved his glasses back up, hiding his eyes.  "You partner was that toad, right?  I heard Banjo and Chicken Legs rescued her-- using moves _I_ taught them."  
  
Jolly didn't especially want to talk about Maggie, but he nodded curtly.  "Yes, they found her for me."  He decided to ignore Jamjars' rather transparent attempt to fish for praise, although he found it kind of cute.

"So.  Where is she?"

"You're certainly rude for a _guest,_ " Jolly harrumphed.  "If you must know, she quit a few months ago."

"Left you, hunh?"  Jamjars shook his head with a surprisingly angry grimace.  "Typical."

"I. . . suppose you could call it that," said Jolly, wondering if Jamjars had just gotten dumped or something.  _As bossy as he is, I can certainly understand why!_   Aloud, he went on, "Maggie said it was because the customers were falling off-- that she was worried about her future and wanted more stability."  He chuckled faintly.  "It was a nice effort, but this is a small town-- everyone knows she ran off with another woman.  Funny, even I had never had pegged her for a lesbian."

"A lesbian. . . ?"  Jamjars frowned, then pulled his glasses off entirely.  "You mean she really _is_ a woman?"

Jolly gave a choked laugh of surprise.  "Of course she's a woman!  Whatever made you think otherwise?"

"You saw her every day, didn'tcha, punk?"  Jamjars snickered a little.  "Despite the lipstick and all, she ain't exactly feminine.  Uh, no offense."  He glanced at Jolly with a slightly embarrassed grimace.  "Sorry, I shouldn't be talking about her that way if she's yer ex."

"My _ex_?"  Jolly broke out into a fit of giggles.  "My, I don't know what _your_ source of information is, but it's certainly wrong!  When I say Maggie was my partner, I mean she was my _business_ partner.  We'd been friends for a long time, and we started the tavern together, but we weren't ever _lovers_."

"Oh.  Uh, well. . . ."  Jamjars looked down and rubbed at the back of his short neck, apparently unnerved by the topic of conversation.  "See, the word around was that you two were. . . _together_.  And so naturally I assumed that she couldn't _really_ be a woman."

Jolly gaped at him a moment, until Jamjars raised his striking eyes again to meet the frog's gaze.  "I. . . I _never_!" Jolly finally croaked, angered no matter how cute Jamjars was.  "You have to be the _rudest_ rodent I've ever encountered-- and the nosiest!"

"Oh come _on_ , punk," Jamjars snapped back, narrowing his eyes.  "The way you act, you ain't fooling anyone!  Everyone knows that yer. . . well. . . uh, ya know."

"That I'm _what_?" demanded Jolly.

"That you like other men," Jamjars finally grumbled as he turned back to his drink, seeming to have trouble getting out the words.

Jolly glared at him.  "Yes, I _do_ prefer men, and I don't care who knows it!  If there's one thing I _hate_ , it's people who pretend to be something they're not.  And that's why I won't have you implying that Maggie is anything but honest!  She wasn't ever my girlfriend, but she was my partner-- my _friend_."

"Okay, okay, don't get yer hat in a twist," muttered the mole.  "I didn't mean to offend ya-- ya prissy little punk!"  
  
"Hmph."  Jolly resolutely turned his back on the infuriating mammal and went back to polishing the gleaming bar.

Jamjars was quiet a moment except for a slurping noise as he drank his ginger beer, but then he mumbled, "I guess I should be more respectful of a. . . er, lady, but I'm startin' to think they're all alike."

_I might as well bite,_ Jolly thought, smirking a little to himself as his anger melted. _He's dying for someone to listen to his sob story!_   The frog tried to ignore how interested he was in hearing Jamjars' gossip.

"Did one leave you too?" he asked as he set the polishing rag aside and turned back to Jamjars.  To his surprise, the stocky mole shook his head.

"Nah, not me.  It was my brother-- his wife."  He sighed heavily and drained the last of his ginger beer before continuing.  "Took the kids and left him.  He got the house, so he's been trying to get me to move in with him, but. . . . ugh, I can't even stand his moping long enough to sit at the bar with him!"  Jamjars fairly slammed his mug down on the bar, making Jolly wince and worry about replacing broken glassware.

"I'm sorry to hear it," Jolly ventured, at the same time thinking, _So that's why the rodent rascal showed up here!_   "It's none of my business, but why did she leave?"

"Nnh."  Jamjars pushed his mug from hand to hand, back and forth on the bar.  "I don't know, really.  Kid says it's 'cos he was always late for dinner."

Jolly blinked.  "You're kidding."

"That's the official line," Jamjars shrugged.  "I don't buy it myself-- she was always pretty controlling of him, but not _that_ bad.  There's probably something else goin' on, but I'm not gonna pry."

"You have no imagination," Jolly teased.  "I'd have it out of him in five minutes-- there's probably another girl involved."

"Hmph, you don't know Bottles," snorted Jamjars.  "He hasn't even talked to another girl since the buzzard, and that was almost two years ago."

"Oh well," Jolly sighed, deciding that he'd better not broach the idea of another _man_ in Bottles' life.  Who knew, maybe it was the "buzzard" after all?  "Want another ginger beer, soldier?"

"That's _sergeant_ , you amphibious punk," snapped Jamjars.  "And no, one's plenty."

"You owe me a lot more business than that," Jolly glowered back, incensed once more at Jamjars' attitude, "for leaving that drafty silo in the middle of my bedroom!  You should have paid me for repairs months ago!"

"Yer tryin' to squeeze blood from a stone, punk," replied Jamjars.  He left a few notes on the counter for the beer, then leaned back defiantly on his stool.  "That's all I've got."

"What, don't they pay _sergeants_ anymore?" sneered Jolly-- although he scooped up the notes quickly enough.  He felt a little bad about it when Jamjars mouth twisted awkwardly.  
  
"Uh. . . well, there ain't much call for the army right now with the witch gone and all," the mole finally admitted.  "I'm. . . in between jobs.  Thinkin' of goin' into broadcasting or something."

"Oh, sorry."  Jolly picked up Jamjars' mug and went to wash it as a distraction from his guilt at embarrassing the mole.  "I. . . didn't realize."

"Yeah, well.  I may hafta move in with Bottles if things don't get better."  He sighed softly, and when Jolly turned, he was looking around the bar.  "I guess we're all in the same boat, nowadays."

"Where do you live, anyway?" asked Jolly in an attempt to change the subject.

"Over near Spiral Mountain."

"Spiral Mountain?" Jolly repeated.  "My, you _are_ far from home.  You came all this way looking for a bar?"

Jamjars shrugged again.  "Sometimes ya gotta make some sacrifices."

Jolly glanced out the window at the sky, now already dark thanks to the early winter nights.  It gave him an idea, one that would both assuage his guilt and give him a chance to get to know the intriguing little mammal better.

"It's far too late for you to go all the way back there tonight.  Why don't you spend the night here?" Jolly suggested.

"H-hunh?" spluttered Jamjars.  "It ain't late at all, punk!"

"Look, it's dark!" Jolly pointed.  "Or can't you tell with those silly sunglasses on?  Besides, it's awfully cold out there."

"Hmph, I can handle the cold-- and the dark!" retorted Jamjars, though he made no move to get off the bar stool.

"Of course you can," Jolly cooed, starting to see this as a personal challenge.  "But you sound like you need a vacation-- just one night away from home will do wonders for you!"

"Oh, so yer a bartender _and_ a psychologist, eh, punk?" grumbled the mole.

"Among other things," Jolly returned primly.  He leaned over the bar towards Jamjars, looking him over carefully.  _He's really not bad-looking at all. . . in fact, it's kind of cute how short he is!_   He grinned down at the mole, who looked back up at him suspiciously.

"I told ya, I don't have any money."  Jamjars pushed his sunglasses down his nose to regard Jolly through his green eyes.  "I'd have to owe ya."

"Oh, I'll take credit in your case."  Jolly reached out a long-fingered hand to pull off the glasses altogether, folding them up and setting them on the bar.  "So, what'll it be, _sergeant_?  I'll give you the best room in the house."

Jamjars hesitated, then finally, he nodded.

\--

To be continued


	2. Chapter 2

"So this's the best room in the house, punk?" Jamjars asked Jolly as he looked around the small bedroom.  Jolly couldn't be sure because of the mole's dark sunglasses, but it looked as if he were eyeing Jolly's flowered bedspread skeptically.

"Yes," Jolly replied haughtily, then he decided he might as well be honest.  "Although. . . it's the _only_ room in the house."

"Oh."  Jamjars' mouth drew back in a slight grimace.  "Where will _you_ sleep, then?"

Jolly shrugged.  "Behind the bar, like I always do when I have a guest."  Saying "always" meant that he _wasn't_ being entirely honest, but Jolly had to draw the line somewhere.  "Here," he went on, turning down the bedspread, "make yourself at home.  But then, I suppose you already have."  He pointed at the silo still protruding from the floor in the corner opposite the bed.

"Hunh, ya just left it here?"  Jamjars went over and kicked at it.  "I haven't used this thing in years!  Why didn't ya tear it down?"

"I thought you might come back," said Jolly without thinking.  He immediately blushed and was glad his back was turned so Jamjars couldn't see.  He began fluffing the bed's pillow with a vengeance as a distraction.

Too late.  "Eh?  Why'd ya think I'd come back?  And why'd that stop ya from fillin' in the silo, anyway?"

Jolly covered the slip with a joke, spoken with dry seriousness.  "I was hoping for a good game of Whack-a-Mole-- I keep a mallet under my bed."

To Jolly's credit, Jamjars actually snickered.  "No, really, punk."

The frog had to think about that one.  Why _hadn't_ he ever filled in the silo?  One answer was that he just hadn't ever gotten around to it, but there had to be a reason for that too: he certainly kept the _rest_ of the inn in pristine condition.  He supposed that he _had_ hoped Jamjars would show up again one day, if only so that Jolly could yell at the "rodent rascal" for tearing up the floor he refused to repair.

Finally, Jolly answered, "I guess I thought you might need it again someday, if there was an emergency."

"Eh," Jamjars muttered, "Thoughtful of ya, I suppose."  He scuffed at the silo again with his foot, then walked over to the bed.  "You gonna get outta here so I can get some sleep, punk?"

"I thought you said it was still early," sniffed Jolly as he moved away from the bed and crossed his arms.

"Yeah, well, I've had a long day."  Jamjars climbed into the bed-- an action that was rather awkward due to his height and which involved a cute scramble at the end-- then he pulled the covers up to his wide but toned waist.  He took off his hat, revealing surprisingly rumpled brown head-fur (also quite cute), and started to remove his sunglasses before hesitating and looking up at Jolly again.  "Uh, look, I really don't wanna take yer bed, punk.  I still got time to get home and--"

"I won't hear of it!" Jolly interrupted.  This was a battle of wills now, no matter how rude and annoying (and cute) the mole was!  "I've shared my bed plenty of times."  This time, he chose the words deliberately, just to gauge Jamjars' reaction.  Sure enough, the mole's grizzled cheeks flushed red beneath the sparse fur.

"E-erm, well, if yer sure."  He lowered his snout to pull off his sunglass, then looked up abruptly with a glare as Jolly sat down on the end of the bed.  "Hey, whaddya think yer doin', punk?"

"I can't decide if I like you or not," Jolly answered bluntly.  "And I'm going to sit here until I figure it out!"

"Great," Jamjars groaned.  "Wake me when ya make up yer mind, hunh?  And I hope ya can think in the dark, 'cos I don't sleep with the light on!"  The mole leaned over to turn off the light, then he lay down on his right side and hauled the bedspread up over his left shoulder.  A little light still seeped in from the bar through the window in the door; it was plenty for Jolly to see by, and of course he knew full well how good moles' eyes were in the dark.

 _The rascal,_ he smirked to himself as he leaned over to see if Jamjars' eyes were closed.  _If he really wanted me to leave, he'd be pushing me out the door!_   At least, that was how logic worked in Jolly's convoluted world.

The mole's eyes _were_ closed-- but he opened one slightly even as Jolly was studying him.  When he saw Jolly watching, Jamjars closed it tightly again, but the frog just giggled quietly.  "You aren't fooling me!  You aren't sleepy at _all_ , are you?"

"How can I sleep with an amphibious punk breathin' on me?" the mole growled.  He finally rolled on his back and opened both green eyes to glare up into Jolly's.  "Do ya do this to all yer guests?"

"Just the cute ones."  By then Jolly _had_ made up his mind: he did like the mole, if only because he _was_ so gruff and annoying.

"Well, it ain't no wonder ya don't get many guests if you sit on 'em all night!" grumbled Jamjars.

"Oh, but that's what some of them liked the best," Jolly cooed, but then Jamjars' words reminded him of his earlier worries: the distinct lack of guests, for whatever the reason.  The frog sighed and drew back to sit upright, looking down at the dimly lit floor glumly.  _He's right-- what am I doing flirting at a time like this?  It hasn't saved the business yet, and I don't suppose it's going to start now._

"Uh. . . ."  Jamjars sat up too, pushing the covers down to his waist again.  "It was a joke, punk.  I didn't mean to offend ya."

"What?  Oh, you didn't," Jolly assured him with a rather limp wave of his hand.  "I was just thinking."  He sighed again and stood.  "Have a good night.  Breakfast is on the house in the morning-- since you don't have any money anyway."

"Hey, punk, wait a minute," Jamjars said in a quiet voice before Jolly could reach the door.

"Hmm?"  Jolly looked back at him and could just make out the shape of the mole's head turned towards him, watching him.

"Somethin's botherin' ya," accused Jamjars loudly enough, but his next words were spoken in barely a mumble. "Is there. . . somethin' I can do?"

Jolly's heart fluttered a bit at the first sign of tenderness from his gruff guest.  "Not. . . not really.  But thank you."  He turned back to the bed, though he hesitated rather than sat down again.  "I just have some big decisions to make, and I guess I didn't really understand that until you showed up."

"Eh, what kinda decisions?"  The mole peered up at him, then to Jolly's surprise, patted the end of the bed in an invitation for the frog to sit down again.  "My brother's the most indecisive kid in the world, and I'm used to helpin' him make up his mind about things. Maybe I can help you too."

"Oh, well."  Jolly flushed with happiness as he sat down, even to broach such a serious subject.  "I've just. . . well, you see what kind of business I've been doing lately: none at all.  I think. . . I think maybe it's time to take my losses and pull out like Maggie did."

"Ya mean shut down the inn?"  When Jolly nodded, Jamjars rubbed his long nose thoughtfully.

"Do you. . . do you think that's cowardly?" Jolly asked in a small voice.  To his surprise, he was actually worried that the mole would think just that.

But Jamjars shook his head.  "Nah. . . not if ya've given it yer best.  In the service, they always said part of bein' a hero was knowin' when to retreat."  He leaned forward a little, towards Jolly.  "But what would ya do if ya let the place go?  It's no fun bein' between jobs, I'll tell ya."

"Oh, I have that all figured out!" Jolly chuckled.  "It's a secret dream I've always had."

When he didn't go on, Jamjars actually nudged his arm with his nose.  "Well?  What is it?"

"You. . . you want me to tell you?  I did say it was secret."  Jolly blushed again, this time at the thought of telling his silly romantic fantasy to anyone; even Maggie hadn't known.

"Yeah," said the mole, "tell me."

"W-well. . . ."  Jolly swallowed then gave in.  "I always wanted to be a. . . a kind of highwayman.  A figure of romance and mystery and intrigue!"  He flapped his hands as he spoke, talking more easily once he got started.  "To rob from the rich and sell to the poor!"

"Wait, I thought it was ' _give_ to the poor,'" Jamjars said drily, although as far as Jolly could tell in the dim light, he was smiling a little.

"I have to support myself somehow!" retorted Jolly.  "And they wouldn't really be _poor_ per se. . . more like I'd steal from the-- the big corporations keeping down the working class, and-- and redistribute the wealth!  For a nominal fee."

Jamjars chuckled.  "Well, it sounds more excitin' than servin' ginger beer and salty dumplings to sailors, anyway."

Jolly decided not to mention just how much fun _that_ could be, in the right situation.  Instead he asked, almost shyly, "You. . . you don't think it's silly?"  
  
"Hmph, course not," snorted the mole.  "It's more'n my brother does-- or Banjo and the buzzard, fer that matter.  They go off adventurin'-- or gettin' themselves killed and resurrected in the kid's case-- but they don't make a profit.  You'd be doin' a spot better if ya got somethin' out of it."  He paused, sighing as he rubbed his nose in his paw again.

"Well, I'll keep thinking about it then.  Maybe I just need a kick in the pants to get going."  Jolly looked down at Jamjars with a little smile.  "And you should really look into broadcasting, if that's what you want to do.  We can't sit around doing nothing forever!"

"Heh.  Maybe I need a kick to get goin' too."

Jolly leaned closer and tilted his long nose back with one finger.  "Hey, kicking's what frogs do best."  Jamjars' eyes widened a little, then a _lot_ as Jolly leaned over and planted a kiss on the end of his snout.  "But then, I have other talents too. "

"Wh-what're you. . . y-ya punk!" stammered the mole.  Jolly slid his fingers down the length of Jamjars' nose, enjoying the feel of the short, soft fur.

"Just thanking you for listening to me," Jolly breathed.

"Y-ya don't hafta. . . really. . . ."  Jamjars scrambled backwards away from him to press up against the wall.  Jolly just leaned farther forward, grinning.  After some years of experience, he knew a merely token protest when he heard one.

"Oh, maybe not. . . but I'd _love_ to."  Jolly scooted closer and, now that Jamjars had no way to escape, turned his head to kiss the mole on the lips.

"Mgh!" squawked Jamjars.  When Jolly drew back, the mole was panting breathlessly.

"I-- in all my-- I've never kissed a _man_!" he yelped.

"Then it's high time you started!"  Jolly pecked him on the mouth again, then sat back with a grin.  "Well?"

"W-well what, punk?" spluttered Jamjars as he rubbed at his mouth with the back of his paw.

Jolly's smile grew a little more tender.  "If you don't like it, I'll leave you alone.  But you haven't given it your best yet, have you?"

"Damn you, ya punk," growled Jamjars-- as he reached out and grabbed Jolly's striped shirt, drawing him closer.  "Not a word of this leaves here, got it?"

"Of course not," Jolly cooed.  He waited, and this time Jamjars was the one to make the move, hesitantly returning the kiss, close-mouthed.

"Mmn," he muttered thoughtfully before repeating the gesture several times in quick succession.  Jolly's blood rushed faster with each kiss, partially at the thought of the conquest he was making, but mostly because he truly wanted Jamjars.  Not wanting to scare Jamjars off, Jolly resisted his urges to step up the action, but it was all he could do to hold back.

Finally, Jamjars opened his mouth under Jolly's.  The frog seized the moment and pushed his long tongue into the mole's mouth, probing it gently.  Jamjars tensed up but then slowly relaxed, moaning softly.

"Bet you've never kissed a non-mammal before either," Jolly teased when he pulled back to let Jamjars catch his breath.

"N-no, can't. . . can't say that I have."  Jamjars lay back on the pillow, still breathing hard as he looked up at Jolly.  "It's. . . different."  He jumped and cringed a little when Jolly flicked out his tongue to caress the tip of the mole's nose, without even leaning over.

"Just be glad you're not a fly. . . _sergeant_."  This time he did lean over, pressing his body against Jamjars' much shorter form as he kissed the mole again.

\--

Jolly spent the night in his own bed after all.  He fell asleep in utter bliss, curled up around the mole's compact, muscular body, his worries about the inn and his own future temporarily forgotten.

 _Maybe I'll keep the inn open after all,_ Jolly thought dreamily as he dozed off.  _He could even move in with me instead of his brother. . . and we could run it together. . . ._

He realized just how much he had been jumping to conclusions-- as always-- when he awoke the next morning to find himself alone.

"Hmn?"  Jolly opened his eyes slowly, expecting to see Jamjars still beside him; however, the mole was gone.  _Already started breakfast, probably,_ Jolly thought with a little smirk as he sat up and stretched his long limbs.  After finding his pants-- which took a good couple minutes-- and pulling them on, he shuffled out to the bar. . . but it was empty as well.

"Jammy?" Jolly called; it was a new nickname he had invented for the mole during the previous night.  When that got no response, he tried, "Jamjars?  Sergeant?"  But there was nothing.

After a thorough search of the inn and the surrounding environs, Jolly trudged back inside and slumped down on one of the barstools.  It certainly wasn't the first time one of his partners hadn't stayed for breakfast, but it was the first time Jolly had cared: he had felt a bond with Jamjars, and it hurt when someone like that ran out on him.

 _I shouldn't have expected anything more_ , he told himself, staring down at his own faint, distorted reflection in the shiny wood of the bar.  _To have imagined he would stay with me!  It was just a one-night stand for him-- and really, I knew that from the start.  Or I should have, anyway._

He stood up and went back to his room to finish dressing mechanically, then bent to make the bed.  As he did so, he noticed something sticking out from underneath.  When he investigated, it proved to be the corner of his old brown suitcase, which he had been saving just in case he ever did decide to pursue the adventurous life of his daydreams.

Jolly knelt beside the bed and pulled out the suitcase, looking down at it thoughtfully. _What's stopping me?_ he thought, running his hand over the scuffed surface.  _Maybe **this** was the kick I needed. . . ._

\--

The next night, Jamjars trudged back into the Lagoon, tired from travelling in his tunnels all the way from Spiral Mountain-- tired and nervous.  He felt like a bit of a fool for coming such a long way just to go to a bar. . . and just to see another man.  Jamjars told himself he was only coming to apologize for running out on Jolly without so much as a thank you for his hospitality, but that didn't explain why he felt so eager to see the frog again.

But then, Jamjars saw the sign on the inn's door.  His heart sank even before he was close enough to read the world "CLOSED" printed on it in large block letters.  Jamjars pounded on the door a few times, just in case, but he didn't really expect any answer.

Finally, he turned away and started back to the world's entrance.  _I didn't get to tell the little punk sorry,_ Jamjars thought grumpily.  _Or. . . or anything else_.  Just what else he might have said to Jolly, he didn't know.

\--

The End


End file.
